The Proud and Noble House of Malfoy
by seethedawn
Summary: My take on Draco's thoughts while in the meeting with the Dark Lord and Snape and everyone in the 1st chapter of Book 7.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. It's a silly thing to have to say honestly.

The Proud and Noble House of Malfoy

Draco shivered in his seat. It was cold in the room, despite the fire, the charms and the raw hate flowing off The Dark Lord as he lazily stared Draco down. Or does it even count as being stared down if you never look up from your lap?

Instead he looked around the room. He had some happy memories in here. His first Nimbus was unwrapped here, his Hogwarts letter, (long expected, but a nice experience none the less), and more recently it was the same room in witch he hadn't been killed for failing to kill Dumbledor.

Now with all their nice furniture shoved haphazardly against the walls, all the deatheaters, the Dark Lord, his snake, and the unconscious woman rotating above his head it had never looked less like home. Mostly due to the furniture, his Mother was meticulous about things like that to the point where... well, to the point where only the Dark Lord himself could persuade her to move them. And he had, but was persuade really the right word?

The deatheaters settled themselves in their seats, leaving two open. One by the Dark Lord, the other a bit further down the table.

"Severus and Yaxley are late." He stated, Draco repressed another shudder. He didn't really want to watch his teacher under Cruciatus again. For some reason he didn't enjoy it as much as the others seemed to. To be perfectly honest the look of fevered delight on their faces was terrifying.

He sat there, stroking his awful snake watching the woman rotate in silence.

Draco hated that snake. Snakes as a whole he didn't mind, of course_Potter _is the one who can talk to the things, which really wasn't fair. Draco was a pureblood Slytherin as far back as anyone could trace, but the half blood Gryffindor idiot, no he can speak to snakes.

But that particular snake Draco wouldn't mind watching Potter converse with. He'd have to get close enough first, then _crack_, down falls the mighty saint Potter. Draco had seen it before.

He was beginning to wish he'd paid attention when the oaf Hagrid was talking about those things you couldn't see until you've seen death. They'd probably come running at him by this point.

Or he could look them up in a book. Wishing he'd listened to_Hagrid_? What was the world coming to?

Did he regret his peaceful Hogwarts years? Yeah, and a flobberworm bit Goyle.

Severus and Yaxley chose that moment to appear. They took their seats, Severus was in the place of honor by the Dark Lord, so maybe he wasn't going to get punished.

As the conversation turned – again – to Potter (it was ridiculous, he couldn't even escape the boy _here_) Draco listened as they plotted the death of one of his schoolmates. Not a close friend anymore than he was a friend, an associate even. Draco had grown up hearing about Potter (the boy was everywhere, the entire wizarding world was _obsessed_), and how one day he would fall to the Dark Lord. That it was inevitable, and he deserved it.

Draco watched, disbelieving, as his Father handed over his wand. All his life his Father had been idolized. He was someone to admire, and aspire to be like. Draco's image of his Father would not hand over his wand like that.

But he had.

How was this an honor? The Dark Lord moves into their home, and he isn't an easy guest to host, with deatheaters coming and going as he pleases, he takes every opportunity to humiliate them, the wand not the least of these, and you'd think Bellatrix was a six year old girl with a new toy unicorn!

Draco's gaze shifted, again, up to the unconscious figure above. He couldn't keep his eyes off it.

She was going to die; there were no two ways about it. She taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, which Draco thought was pretty damn stupid. Dumbledor's been going on about the Dark Lord's return for two solid years now, and the Muggle Studies teacher doesn't quit. No sense of self-preservation. Probably a Hufflepuff.

So Draco was staring at her when she began to wake up. He saw her shift a bit, he saw practically every person in the room lean forward in anticipation, and he saw her face as she continued to rotate.

His mind was screaming at him to close his eyes, but his eyelids weren't listening. He didn't care about the taunting he'd receive later for it; he just did not want to see this.

He watched helplessly as she noticed Snape and winced for the emotionless Professor as she plead for her life.

How did the man _do_ that? He'd killed Dumbledor, a man he'd known for years, and now, with even less emotion than a teaspoon, he was watching her beg.

Sure Draco had tried to kill Dumbledor last year. It was different this time, though. Dumbledor was a powerful wizard. Dumbledor was actively opposing the Dark Lord. Dumbledor was Gryffindor who thought lemon drops would cure all the world's problems. Honestly Draco had spent half the time up there on that tower waiting for the man to pull a lemon drop from somewhere. Offer one to Bellatrix, give another to Grayback to chew on.

Draco hoped everyone had been too focused on watching the blood traitor die to notice his reaction.

She deserved it, he reminded himself. She stood up for muggles, and mudbloods and, and…

He'd_known_ her though. He'd considered her subject a waste of time, probably offended her more than once, but did she deserve that, just for not hating muggles?

No, she didn't.

Stupid blood traitor.

**A/N**- Hope you like it. Let me know what you think.


End file.
